


Strictly Simulator

by weeping_wandrian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith and Lance are friends before the Kerberos mission, M/M, Turns out they make a pretty good team in the flight simulator, secret friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeping_wandrian/pseuds/weeping_wandrian
Summary: Lance may only be a cargo pilot, but he's still the best cargo pilot at the Garrison academy. And his nightly practice sessions on the Garrison flight simulator will soon get him into fighter class. At least... if he didn't have to compete for practice time with Keith Kogane, the anti-social fighter pilot that he just met. It looks like they'll just have to team up in the simulator! Problem is, they both have other things on their minds. Lance's flight team needs a new comms officer, and Keith is worried about the upcoming launch of the Kerberos mission, for some reason.





	Strictly Simulator

Lance plopped down on the bed, next to where Hunk sat at his desk.

“The common room is still trashed from last night,” he sighed. “It’s throwing me off my groove. Seriously, who knew the nerds could party so hard?”

“As a nerd, I take offense at that, buddy,” Hunk said without looking up from his tablet. Lance couldn’t see the screen, but it was probably something to do with emission spectrums or Fraunhoffer lines. “Why do you wann use the simulator that bad, anyway? Just wait until class tomorrow.”

“Because I perform better without Iverson breathing down my neck! And I’ve gotta improve if I wanna break into fighter class. I’m this close, and I’m bringing the team down.”

“Uh, I think you mean _McGinty_ is bringing us down. For a communications officer, I’m pretty sure that person had never seen a computer before. Ever,” Hunk remarked. “Seriously, I think she’s one unexcused absence away from flunking out.”

“Yeah, once she’s gone, maybe we’ll get some kind of super-genius to run our comms,” he said, laying his head on the stiff, Garrison issue pillow and looking at the ceiling. “What do you think? Someone who’ll be like, ‘By compensating for temporal distortions and the planet’s unusual xenon rays, I can extend our communications range by twelve parsecs!”

“I think you just made that up. Seriously, if you wanna practice so bad, use the common room in A dorm. Fighter class kids always sneak into town to party, so it’s probably deserted,” Hunk told him, trying to focus on his studies.

“Yeah…” Lance mused. “On a Saturday night? I bet those hotshots are going out.”

He leaped out of bed, grabbing his flight log and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” Lance said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Not for you, anyway,” Hunk murmured distractedly, squinting at his screen. 

*****

The hallway outside was empty, though Lance could hear music coming from C dorm a floor below. The idea of going to a party tonight was tempting, but with the pressure he’d been getting from his flight instructors, Lance couldn’t afford to miss a night of practice right now. He glanced down the hall, noticing the piles of empty cans and garbage in the darkened common room, and shuffled quietly towards the turbolift. Wincing as it hissed open, he slipped inside and pressed the button for A dorm. Hopefully no one would be waiting for him outside the doors upstairs.

The fighter class common room was, just as B dorm, deserted, and Lance was confident it wasn’t because everyone was in their rooms studying. A quick glance at his flight log confirmed that it was 2300h—he’d have a couple hours before the first partiers began staggering back into the dorm.

He tiptoed down the hallway, humming Mission Impossible to himself, and slipped inside the pitch black common room. He flipped a switch, and the fluorescents illuminated a pristine flight simulator sitting in the corner. 

“Seriously, how are they so good if they never practice?” Lance whispered to himself. “This thing looks like it’s never been used.”

He slipped into one of the pleather pilot’s chairs and initiated the startup sequence. The machine hummed to life, playing a series of musical chimes when the Garrison logo appeared onscreen. Lance gripped the controls. They were stiffer than he was used to. Must not be broken in yet—a far cry for the overused clunker the kids in B dorm used to practice after hours.

Acclimating himself to the sim’s new car smell, Lance selected a run-of-the-mill scenario to practice. It was a fairly easy module that he used to warm up his reflexes, or when he had something on his mind and really just needed to think. He’d work on something more challenging later, for the moment, he needed to mull over his team’s latest failure in the classroom simulator.

Although he’d hate to pin the blame on one person—Lance believed in collective responsibility, especially when something was his own fault—he was afraid that Hunk was right. McGinty, the meek, soft-spoken student who’d been assigned their comms officer, was not pulling her weight. He hadn’t meant to, but Lance had snuck a look at her last exam scores, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be in need of a new comms officer. Again.

Lance worked his way up through the modules, when he heard a cough behind him. Someone had entered the room while he’d been distracted. Lance whirled around, expecting a uniformed Garrison officer ready to punish him, but was surprised to see a fellow student. Onscreen, the virtual ship spiraled into a crash.

“I knew the skill requirement was lower for cargo pilots, but that level’s below even you, don’t you think?” he said dryly, leaning again the arm of one of the common room couches.

Lance squinted. His red jacket and black hair looked familiar, but the kid’s name escaped him. He was definitely fighter class, though. No mistaking that attitude.

“I may be a cargo pilot, but I’m the top pilot in my class. And I don’t plan to stop there,” Lanc retorted.

“Whatever,” the kid said. “Were you done using equipment that doesn’t belong to you, or do I need to walk you back to _B_ dorm?”

“Hey, it’s not _my fault_ the other people in B dorm trashed the sim downstairs. You fighter pilots never practice in here anyway.”

The other kid stood up, jabbing his finger in Lance’s face. “I. Do.”

Lance stared at the finger pointed at him.

“Keith!” he exclaimed.

The boy blinked.

“Sorry, I couldn’t remember your name for a second. It’s all good,” Lance explained. “Anyway, I was here first and it’s _school_ property, so…”

“Well, scoot over,” Keith said, squeezing into the second pilot’s chair. Lance stared. “What? I have a test on this tomorrow. You take gunner position, I’ll fly.”

Lance grumbled at the sudden invasion of his space, but acquiesced. Maybe shooting virtual aliens would help him become a better pilot… somehow.

“Wait, the Ganymede Rescue?” Lance interrupted, watching Keith select the module from the simulator library. “Isn’t that one like… impossible?”

“Why else would I need a gunner?” Keith asked. “Don’t complain, or I’ll report you for breaking curfew.”

“You’re breaking curfew,” Lance muttered bitterly, but he settled back into his seat and reminded himself of the new controls. Keith started up the sim, and they were thrust into the midst of a battle with the Zerpax Coalition—the fictional alien enemies that the Garrison used in all their combat sims. 

Somewhere in the chaos was a Galaxy Garrison ship whose distress call they were responding to, and they needed to find it and safely escort it back to a Garrison outpost. At least, that’s what the sim guide said. Lance was pretty sure no one had ever completed the module since its publication.

Lance immediately opened fire on the enemy fighters, clipping two and destroying one. Keith swerved quickly out of the way of a heavy artillery blast from the Zerpax cruiser.

“Hey, cargo, can you make target the _anti-aircraft_ guns instead of the little guys?” Keith shouted, jockeying the thrusters to carve a careful path through the enemy’s rain of fire.

“My name is Lance!” Lance yelled back. “And why don’t you get a little closer, so I can shoot them without _them_ being able to shoot _us_!”

“That's—not a bad idea,” Keith said. “Hang on. Lance.”

He circled the clunky Garrison flyer back around, hurtling towards the surface of the cruiser. Once they were underneath the artillery’s range, Lance fired three more shots, nailing two of the guns and sending another spinning out of control. It began blasting shots in every direction.

“Fuck,” Lance swore. Keith chuckled.

“Don’t let Iverson hear you say that,” he said, bringing them back around. “Don’t miss again.”

Lance fired again, and the last gun went up in an explosion, just in time for the fighters to get on their tail again.

“Left engine down!” Keith cried as a blast rocked the cockpit. Lance wiped the sweat off his brow and tried to shoot down more fighters, but there were too many of them.

“We need backup!” he yelled. “How are we supposed to beat this thing?

Before the words were even out of his mouth, their ship was shot down. The screen went black and showed their mission stats in white monotype.

“You don’t,” Keith replied. “It’s an exercise in futility.”

Lance scowled at him. “And you brought me with you _why_?”

“I’ve actually never made it this far,” continued Keith, leanin back against the pleather chair. His voiced softened. “You’re not a bad shot, you know. With a little practice you could make fighter class next year.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Lance scoffed. Keith was mocking him. 

“I’m going to bed. Let’s not plan to do this again.” Keith stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then headed for the door. “You should leave before somebody catches you.”

“Uh, good night?” Lance answered, puzzled. What had just happened? “Oh!”

He checked his flight log, which had automatically updated with his recent practice session. It was 0030h. Time to go. Keith had already disappeared down the hall into his room.

As Lance walked back to the turbolift, he suddenly heard voices coming from one of the closed doors. 

“…Kerberos? I thought the odds of them picking you were like, a million to one… No, it’s awesome, just…”

Was that Keith’s voice? Lance shook his head. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping on a private conversation. He hurried himself into the turbolift and put it out of his mind. Still… did Keith know someone going on the Kerberos mission? The Garrison had been putting that project together for years. It was every cadet’s dream to be the first to set foot on an alien moon. Who could he have been talking to?

*****

Downstairs in their room, Hunk had fallen asleep at his desk, a little trail of drool pooling on the surface of his tablet. Lance smiled and sat down on the bed, placing his flight log on the nightstand. He couldn’t get Keith out of his head. So atypical for a fighter class kid… No grandiosity, the bad haircut…

“Huh,” Lance said to himself. Then he laid down and pulled up the covers. What he should be worrying about is how to compensate for McGinty’s complete incompetence in lab tomorrow…

**Author's Note:**

> This maaaay or may not continue to be a thing. I have more ideas, but it kinda wrapped up nicely here, so who knows. 
> 
> The title is a reference to Strictly Ballroom. (Get it? Cause Keith is gonna teach Lance to be a better pilot? And then they'll fall in love and dance in the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix Dancing Championship?!?!)


End file.
